


The Happiness You Bring To Me

by robokittens



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Closeted Character, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Sadstuck, convenient bed sharing, the fire escape is a metaphor probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 22:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was easier before he knew, when he thought Bucky was just … going out and being queer, then coming home and being normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Happiness You Bring To Me

**Author's Note:**

> non-tag-worthy warnings for homophobic steve rogers (a sort of benign, nimby homophobia but it's there nonetheless), alcohol-induced smooching, implied prostitution i guess vaguely? and also i … really feel i should tag this for dubcon but i am honestly not sure who is dubconning whom here precisely or what that person is being dubconned into. there's some consent issues i guess.
> 
> thanks to [ang](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AngGriffen/) for listening to me bitch about this incessantly and to [audz](http://nordreys.tumblr.com/) for telling me it didn’t suck and to [chloë](http://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve) for smacking it into shape.

Their legs dangle off the edge of the fire escape, and Bucky tries to blow his cigarette smoke away from Steve, doesn't want to irritate his lungs; but the way the wind's blowing, there's not much he can do. Bucky stubs out the cigarette and drops the butt down to the ground, turns to Steve with a grin.

"You wanna go out tonight?" he asks. Steve is very aware, suddenly, of how their thighs are pressed together, of the warm weight of Bucky at his side.

"And do what?"

Bucky shrugs, and Steve can feel that too.

"Dunno," he says. "Go dancing? Get something to eat, maybe see a picture?" He's not facing Steve anymore, but out the corner of his eye he can see Bucky’s smile, see the moment when it turns wicked. "Get in a fight, maybe? The two of us, we could take 'em. Seems to be your hobby, these days."

Steve lets out a huff of air that could almost be mistaken for a laugh. "I should get a new hobby," he mutters, and Bucky leans in a little, knocks their shoulders together in a reassuring gesture.

"We could ask some gals along, if you wanted," he offers. "I know Mary Kate is free tonight, and I think Vera — you remember Vera, Joan's cousin? —"

"Bucky. Buck, c'mon. You don't need to keep trying to set me up. Besides, I don't mind going out with just you. You're my best friend." _My only friend_ , he doesn't say, not because it's not true but because he doesn't feel like having that fight right now.

"And I won't be sore if you just want to take Mary Kate out," he continues, staring out over the rooftops so he doesn't have to see Bucky's face. "I think she really likes you. So if you wanna … wanna ….You know." He falters, coughs a little through the stutter. "If you wanna take her out, I don't mind."

Bucky sighs, the fabric of their shirts rustling in the rise and fall of his shoulder up against Steve's. It might be Bucky's breath that whispers across Steve's face, but it might just be the breeze.

"You know I don't," Bucky says.

Steve stares resolutely across the skyline. He can see the sun setting, reflected in the windows across the street. "Yeah," he says, and they leave it at that.

 

—

 

Steve's not dumb, he's not. Sometimes Bucky's gone for longer than he should be maybe, and he comes back a little more bruised up than a few days' work on the docks would normally leave him, and it's not like Steve doesn't know what goes on at the docks. They pay rent though — they finally moved out of Bucky's folks' place, and Steve's job in the mail room only brings home so much, so if Bucky has a few extra dollars some days and doesn't say how, it's not like Steve's going to ask.

His life would be a lot easier without Bucky in it, he thinks sometimes — he wouldn't be better off, but he wouldn't have the constant comparison, the bright shining sun of James Buchanan Barnes to overpower any weak light he might put off himself.

Or his life might be easier because without Bucky to help him get out of the scrapes he gets himself into, he'd just be dead.

He doesn't want that, though. For all the trouble being friends with Bucky causes, sometimes — even if those troubles are mostly in his head, which is almost worse because he can't escape them — Steve’d rather have him there than not. He loves him.

 

—

 

"What's it like?" Steve asks, curled into Bucky in the dark.

They couldn't take the couch cushions when they moved, and Bucky's old bed had been too small for the two of them, on top of being pretty ratty. They'd had to make do for a little while until they could afford a bigger bed, and they haven't lost the habit of sleeping close even now that they have one

Steve can feel the quirk of Bucky's chin against the top of his head and knows he's grinning. "You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who doesn't want to know the answers," he teases, and Steve tucks his head in, butting gently against Bucky's bare chest. Bucky probably knows he's blushing, but he's still glad he can't see it.

"It's not so different," Bucky continues, politely pretending that Steve's ever more than kissed a girl. "Depends what sort you go for, I guess."

"What sort do you—" Steve starts to ask. He stops when he feels Bucky tense against him.

"Jesus, Steve." Bucky can't really move away with one of his arms trapped under Steve, even if the bed is big enough to allow it. He tries, though, and Steve shrinks away from him, rolls over and gets out of bed.

He slips on his shoes and heads for the door. "Just need some air," he says quietly as he walks away, and he can hear Bucky swearing harshly as the door bangs shut behind him.

He's only outside a minute, leaning against the wall right by the front door and wishing he could smoke a cigarette himself, when Bucky finds him.

"Hey," Bucky says, and Steve echoes it softly. He stares at the ground, and Bucky's bare feet on the cold concrete. Bucky's put a shirt on, at least, an old worn-out work shirt he doesn't bother to button up all the way. That's good, Steve supposes. It's getting cold out.

They don't say anything for a while, until Bucky starts in with no prelude, as if they were still in bed and nothing had interrupted. "I don't know that I have a sort," he says. "It doesn't matter how big they are — how they're built I mean," he clarifies quickly. "Small guys are good, a lot of the time — a lot to prove, y'know?"

Steve snorts. Sure, he knows.

"I just want someone with a little fight in 'im. It's not like I need to be knocked around or anything, but ..." He trails off. Steve pretends not to notice how he said need and not want.

"Meet someone at a bar, or out on the street, and take them back to — There's places to go. Not much difference between pulling a dame and a fella, 'cept the fella's more likely to take you to bed.

"Speaking of," he says, and nods his head toward the door. "Let's go back, yeah? It's cold out here."

"Yeah," Steve says, but Bucky's already halfway back inside. He follows.

 

—

 

He loves Bucky. He loves him — it's simple as that, but then it's not. There are so many things that Steve wants to do and can't, things Bucky could do and doesn't want to. Bucky is handsome and charming and tough to boot — he could ask out the prettiest girl he found and she'd say yes, and if she had a boyfriend Bucky could take him in a fight. He can sweet talk the old lady at the diner down the block into giving them desserts for free. If the War comes to America, and they both know it will, Bucky says he doesn't even want to enlist.

If the lady at the diner gives Steve a free sundae, it's because she feels sorry for him.

Maybe that's what gets him. It's not like he thinks he'll get to marry some beautiful woman and raise beautiful children with her, get a house with a yard somewhere. If he goes off and comes home a war hero, maybe. It's a pipe dream for him, but it's still a dream, and it's a kick in the gut that Bucky could have all this and doesn't want it.

 

—

 

Steve wakes up when Bucky gets home, even if he's trying to be quiet. There's no light but streetlamps peeking in through the window yet, which is good; that means Bucky still has a chance for a few hours sleep before he has to get up for work. The bed dips as Bucky sits on the end of it to take his shoes off, and Steve uncurls himself from sleep and stretches out behind him.

"Hi," he says, quiet, but Bucky startles anyway. He doesn't say anything, just finishes stripping down to his underwear before laying down beside Steve. He doesn't smell like liquor or anything, just sweat and a little bit like the river.

"Sorry I woke you," Bucky says finally, and his voice is a little rough. Steve doesn't ask him where he's been. He hasn't asked in a long time.

After a moment — he's still half asleep, not quite sure about the passage of time — he mumbles a sleepy "s'alright,” and curls into Bucky's side, moving by instinct into the heat of his body until Bucky startles again.

"Don't," Bucky says quietly, sounding more sad than angry as he moves away. "Don't touch me."

"Shoulda washed off before you got in bed, if you're that dirty," Steve murmurs as he scoots away obligingly.

Bucky sighs in the way he does when he thinks Steve's being stupid on purpose. "I just," he says, but Steve's already back asleep before he finishes the sentence.

 

—

 

They don't really talk about it that much. There's more important things — baseball, the war and when it will get here, if either of them can manage another job, how Bucky's family is doing.

It just bugs Steve, is all, that there's this part of Bucky's life he can't ever really know about. It's not that he wants to go where Bucky's going — he just doesn't like when Bucky goes places he knows Steve can’t be. It's not that he's possessive — Bucky's always had other friends, done other things, and Steve knows at the end of the day Bucky won't leave him behind. He just doesn't like that there's so many places he can't go, things he can't do. That's all.

 

—

 

"Is there anyone — y'know." Steve gestures with his pencil out at the city.

They're on the fire escape again, Steve curled into a corner with the metal digging uncomfortably into his skin, face buried in his sketchbook even as he speaks. So he doesn't have to look at Bucky, he'd say, except Bucky's all he’s looking at, trying to catch in pencil the oddly graceful curve of Bucky slouched over the railing with his cigarette in hand.

Bucky looks over at him for the first time in a while; they've been out here in silence, Bucky chain-smoking while Steve draws the skyline for the hundredth time, Bucky for the millionth.

"That you like, I mean," Steve clarifies, and ducks his head down into his sketchbook again. "I  wouldn't mind if — I don't know how it works, but if you wanted to bring someone back or something I … I wouldn't mind much, long as you gave me some warning. I mean if it's. If there's someone you're … seeing," he finishes quietly.

The cigarette falls from Bucky's fingers still lit, and Steve unconsciously puts it onto the page: a whisp of smoke and a faint glow, as best as he can convey it in just pencil, down below where he's drawn Bucky's feet. There's a dark look in Bucky's eyes, and if it were anyone else Steve would be trying to figure out how not to get hit. As it is, he's trying to figure out how to apologize.

Bucky speaks before he can say anything. "I wouldn't bring some stranger back to our place. That's not right."

Steve frowns. "Always random strangers, though, Buck? That's not — you deserve better than that."

Bucky smiles, one that doesn't reach his eyes, and the cheer to his voice is just as forced when he says, "Ain't a lot of jobs in this line of work, Stevie."

"Yeah, but everyone loves you," Steve says, and he hopes he doesn't sound bitter. He knows it's not easy for Bucky, either, but it's just … it's rough is all, watching his best friend get handed everything and turn it away. It's hard for him to believe everything isn't as easy for Bucky no matter what part of the city he's in.

"People like me just fine." Bucky sighs. "There's just no one I'm seeing. No one I … like. Out there."

"No one? C'mon, Buck. There must be some fella's caught your eye."

"Nah. Not there, anyway. There's someone but he's — he's not like me." It's not even halfway through the sentence before Bucky sounds like he regrets starting it.

They're going to regret this whole conversation, both of them, Steve can tell already. He knows how this night is going to end: Bucky leaving, going out somewhere and coming back to bed covered in someone else's sweat — some stranger, apparently, not even the same nice young man Steve had been trying to convince himself Bucky was seeing.

Steve figures he can't make it much worse by trying to lighten the mood a little before Bucky inevitably leaves. "Anyone I know?" he jokes, his voice is as bright as he can make it. He's not prepared for the darkness in Bucky's voice when he replies.

"Yeah, Steve. It's someone you know."

Steve looks up from his pad — he could draw the railing from memory but he wants to get the shadows right, and Bucky's staring right at him, the look in his eyes one Steve isn't sure he's ever seen before. Bucky turns away quickly, brings his hand to his mouth like he's forgotten he dropped his cigarette, but it's not quick enough.

"Bucky..."

Steve's voice is quiet, quieter still in comparison to the rough laughter that cuts him off.

"Don't," Bucky says. "Just don't. I've lasted this long, I'll keep lasting."

Steve gets up, unfolds himself from the metal and tries to ignore the pins and needles in his legs, gait visibly unsteady even in the few steps it takes him to get to Bucky. When he gets there, Bucky flinches like he hadn't known Steve was coming.

It doesn't feel right, Bucky acting like he's afraid of Steve. No one's afraid of him, for one thing; Bucky should never have to be, for another. "Buck," he says again, quietly. There's no reply, and he settles his arms on the railing. They watch the night sky in silence, a breath away from being pressed together.

After a long moment, Bucky sighs. "I'm going to bed," he says, and peels himself away from the rail to turn back inside.

"Wait," Steve says. He turns around, but doesn't move otherwise. "I'll come with you." Bucky's gaze on him is level, almost angry, eyes still dark.

"No you won't," he says flatly. The door to the apartment slams shut behind him.

 

—

 

Bucky’s gone for three days. They're the longest days Steve's had in a while, the longest he's had since his mother … since they knew there wasn't anything more that could be done. Steve had almost disappeared then himself, but as much as he was hurting he couldn't bear the thought of leaving her to hurt alone.

He's hurting now, alone. By day two, he's worried half to death; he gets yelled at three times at work that day: once for being late (he'd lingered at home hoping Bucky would come back once he thought Steve was gone), twice for being distracted.

Day three he buys a bottle of gin on his way home from work, and is well into it when Bucky finally walks in the door. Bucky's still the drunker of the two, but only just.

He stares at Steve like he hadn't expected him to be there, standing in the door silhouetted by the light from the hallway; Steve hadn't bothered to turn on a light once the sun went down. Steve lifts the bottle of gin in the air, half greeting and half summons, and Bucky finally enters the apartment, shuts the door behind him. Steve notices it’s dark for the first time.

Bucky joins him on the floor, sits cross-legged next to him and accepts the bottle. He turns the bottle in his hands but doesn't drink from it, finally setting it on the floor next to them. "I'm sorry," he says. His voice sounds ragged.

"It's —" Steve is ready to forgive him, to pardon all the hurt and worry now that he's finally, _finally_  back, but Bucky cuts him off.

"No," he says, and pushes himself up off the floor, kneeling next to Steve instead. "For this."

It's not Steve's first kiss, but it's not far off.  It's nothing like how he's seen Bucky kiss girls, playing at being a gentleman; he doesn't know how Bucky kisses boys — tries not to think about it — but he imagines it's something more like this. Bucky's lips press urgently against his, and when he tries to break away — to breathe — Bucky moves further against him, sucks on his lower lip for a moment and then slips his tongue into Steve's open mouth. Steve tries to gasp, which just pulls Bucky's tongue in deeper. He can feel it tracing against his teeth, bumping against his own tongue.

Finally Bucky breaks away, pulls back just far enough that they're not kissing anymore, but close enough that Steve can feel Bucky's shaky exhales against his lip.

“Sorry," he says again. "For that."

He stands up, and strips down to his underwear so quickly that Steve, slowed down by the kiss as much as the alcohol, doesn't even have time to be alarmed before Bucky's crawled into bed.

When Steve stands up, Bucky's face-down on the far side of the mattress, already snoring softly. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches the rise and fall of Bucky's breathing, the lean planes of his back, for a long time.

 

—

 

He wakes up with Bucky curled around him, face buried in Steve's neck, their hands tangled together over his heart. He can feel Bucky's heart beating against his back, feel his pulse where his fingers wrap around Bucky's wrists. Bucky's breath is warm against his neck, his legs warm tucked up against Steve's.

He falls back asleep.

 

—

 

The problem is, Steve loves Bucky more than he's ever loved anyone, maybe. He just doesn't —

 

—

 

It's Steve that kisses Bucky this time. They're both sober, both exhausted from a series of long days, both tired of not having talked much. They haven't touched each other except in sleep for a week.

Steve is barefoot and in shirtsleeves, trying to light the range so he can cook — just eggs, because it's all he's got energy or money for — but it's being stubborn again. He throws another match to the floor, curses as the still-warm head brushes his foot.

"Lemme," Bucky says softly. He's standing behind Steve, snuck up on him while he was fighting with the stove, and Steve can feel the warmth of Bucky's bare chest against his back, not quite touching.

"I can get it." It's through gritted teeth, angry at having failed another stupid thing — as if it's his body's fault the range won't light.

"Let me," Bucky says again, gently. His hand touches Steve's for just a second as he takes the match box, but he pulls away quickly. Like he's been burned, Steve thinks, like the matches — no, like Steve himself — had hurt to touch.

Steve turns around. This close up, he can't ignore how much taller Bucky is, how much broader. Not that he tries to pretend otherwise, but sometimes it's just — it's another thing he hates. About himself, about this stupid situation, about Bucky's — about Bucky.

He doesn't hate Bucky. _Couldn't_.

He wraps his hand around Bucky's wrist, the hand that holds the match box. "Stop being stupid," he snaps. "You're acting like you're scared of me. There's nothing — you're spooked for no reason."

Bucky just sort of looks at him, half sad and half longing — he knows what that look is, now. It was easier before he knew, when he thought Bucky was just … going out and being queer, then coming home and being normal.

He tries not to think about it.

He's not thinking about it, not at all, when his grip on Bucky's wrist tightens, when he tilts up on his toes to press his lips against Bucky's, when the matches fall to the floor. "Stop being stupid," he whispers against the corner of Bucky's mouth. Bucky's free hand comes up to wrap around his shoulder, pulling him closer, and Steve's lips part for him.

Bucky kisses like he's thirsty. He tastes like salt, and he kisses like Steve's saliva will save him if he can just drink enough of it.

"Stevie," Bucky whispers. There's a strand of spit connecting them as Bucky pulls away, and Steve licks his lips to get rid of it as much as out of nerves, as much as to get the taste of Bucky — get rid of it, get more of it, get it off his lips.

"We should make dinner," Steve says abruptly. "You dropped the matches." He steps back, and winces as he bumps into the stove, but it's a long moment before he lets go of Bucky's wrist.

 

—

 

What if Bucky just got it out of his system, he wonders. What if he finally got to — got to see Steve, got to — to touch him, or whatever it is he wants to do? What if he was able to realize finally that Steve was scrawny, and weak, and had no idea what he was doing and no interest in learning? What if he realized he could do better? That Steve would always be his best friend, but would never be —

What if he left?

 

—

 

"Do you want to do this?"

"I want to make you happy," Steve says, and it's not a lie.

Bucky had been sitting in the kitchen and reading a comic book, and Steve had leaned forward and put a hand on his thigh. They're in the doorway of the bedroom now, and for all that Bucky's the one who wants this, he's acting awful wary.

"You don't wanna do this," he says. His eyes go dark, just the way Steve doesn't want them to.

"I wouldn't," he says. "For anyone else. But I — I love you. You're like my family. I don't want you to be alone."

"Like your family, huh?"

Steve flushes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Bucky says. He sounds distracted, then confessional by turn when he adds, "I don't think of you like family."

He's still taller than Steve when he ducks his head down, playing at being bashful, but he's low enough that Steve can make out how long his lashes are, how full his lips are. Bucky is _pretty_ , in the right light, at the right angles. No one would mistake him for a girl — Steve couldn't. He isn't trying to. That's not what this is about.

He fists a hand in Bucky's shirt and pulls him closer, leaning up. It gets easier every time.

 

—

 

It's lewd, positively indecent, and Bucky's barely gotten Steve's pants unfastened; it's not the knowledge of what's about to happen so much as the look on Bucky's face, eyes wide and bright, lips softly parted, as he looks up at Steve from between his legs.

He leans his head against Steve's knee, and while the fabric there is too thick for the wet pant of Bucky's breath to pass through it, Steve swears he can feel it anyway. "Wanted to do this for so long," Bucky murmurs, and presses a kiss to the inside of Steve's thigh.

Steve doesn't say anything — isn't sure what to say, and besides which, his throat's gone dry. He takes a deep hitching breath and starts to move his hand toward Bucky's face, then stops when he realizes he's not sure where to put it. His hand hovers midair for a moment before he brushes his knuckles against Bucky's cheek.

Bucky taps against the inside of Steve's knee, and Steve raises his hips off the bed obediently so that Bucky can slide his pants down. His legs are an even sorrier sight when bare, thin and knobbly and covered in hair too fine and fair to be seen in most light. It's dark enough in their bedroom that he might not notice, if it weren't for the contrast of Bucky's dark head pressed against his thigh.

If Bucky minds, though, he's not showing it. "Hell, Stevie," he says, the huff of laughter doing nothing to disguise the honest admiration in his voice as he eases Steve out of his briefs, "Those girls don't know what they're missing."

He's only half hard, but Bucky's doing his honest best to remedy that. Just his breath across the head of Steve's cock is enough to make him twitch in Bucky's hand, and the soft noises he makes, without doing anything more, does the rest. He can see Bucky's jaw move, gathering moisture in his mouth like he's about to spit, but instead he drags his tongue wetly across his own hand. When he wraps that hand around Steve's cock, he can't help the gasp that escapes his lips, or the way his ass jerks against the bed.

Steve's eyes slip shut as Bucky starts moving his hand, sliding wetly up and down near the base of Steve's cock, then drier as his saliva starts to dry. As much he tries not to move, he can't help but push up into the friction. He's so distracted by Bucky's laughter, soft and fond in counterpoint to the rougher movement of his hand, that he's surprised when Bucky's lips wrap around the head of his cock.

"Oh," he sighs, and jerks forward without meaning to.

Bucky makes a sound that's wet and throaty but not quite a gag, and pulls off. "Hey now, hey," he whispers, and pets Steve's thigh. "Stay still. I got you."

He smiles up at Steve, and it's so pure that Steve almost can't handle it. It's the same way he smiles at Steve all the time, only now he's kneeling on the floor, now he's got his hand around Steve's cock, now there's a glimmer of saliva on his chin. Steve can't help it, he pictures Bucky on his knees in a dirty bathroom, undoing the fly of some pristine uniform pants, the knees of his own slacks getting dirty. Does he smile at those other men like this? Does he —

 

"I got you," Bucky whispers, and as his lips close around Steve again, swallowing him deeper, Steve stops thinking about it at all.

 

—

 

"Let's go to bed," Bucky says, the same casual tone as always, his voice only a little rough around the edges.

Steve falls asleep with Bucky's arm draped heavy across his chest, Bucky's breath warm against his neck.

 

—

 

He wakes up with Bucky perched on one elbow next to him, watching Steve sleep like he does when Steve is sick. Steve's chest is clear, his breathing even, and nothing aches; he didn't wake once in the night.

"Morning," Bucky murmurs, and dips to press a kiss to Steve's bare shoulder.

Steve yawns, stretches out his arms, and when he sits up the motion pushes Bucky's arm away. "Shouldn't you be at work?" he asks. Neither of them remembered to set an alarm last night, and the sunlight has started to creep through the window; normally Bucky has to leave before dawn.

"Nah," Bucky says, sprawling out to take up the space left behind as Steve gets out of bed. "I'm taking the day off. You should, too."

He can feel Bucky's eyes on him as he pulls on an undershirt and picks his trousers up off the floor, shaking them out. When he looks back, Bucky is curled in the bedsheet, sunlight golden on his bare chest and reflecting in his smile. His hair's disheveled, his eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. Steve's fingers twitch with the ache to draw it, but he's going to be late.

"Can't," he says, more brusquely than he means to. Bucky's smile falters, and Steve tries his hardest to grin at him, adding, "Gotta keep a roof over your head somehow, you lazy bum."

He's sitting on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes when he feels Bucky move behind him, feels him pressed up against his back. "Hey," Bucky says, and Steve shivers. "Kiss me before you go."

And Steve does.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _cause nothing's worse than seeing you worse than me / and nothing hurts like seeing you hurt like me / the consequence is less than the happiness you bring to me / there's more to give than what you take from me_ (fallen snow, au revoir simone)


End file.
